(From a poem of Dionisis Kapsalis)
I know that he will come and I won�t be like I am
to accept him with my best coat
neither bending on the pages of some tome
where I loft to glean that I am reposing.
I won�t pray in a universe that dulls
I won�t ask cheekily �where is your sting?�
he won�t be a parent to say to me �wake up and get dressed
it�s time to live my child, it�s dawning�.
He will come at the time that my light is mangling
and I fanatically crave a little of piece
he will come like a fiery command that solves
conditions of life and the sharply delight of the world.
He won�t collect the sky to wash me
he won�t hold basil or fronds of peppermint
He will come at the time that my light is mangling.
THE WOMAN WHO WAS READING POEMS
The woman who was reading poems
she was standing near to the fire
and two black birds were bringing messages
from an old love: �nevermore�!
The woman who was speaking to the waves
she was dancing on a waterside
one valse with unbound hair
and she walks in the deep.
The woman who was delving tombs
and she hasn�t had a spoke
she was looking the death like an old love
and she was whispering with dead eyes.
For all those that we lived, alone with alone
sharing the pains.
The hours that we cried, alone with alone
sharing the pains.
CLOWN ON WEDNESDAY, DEAD ON SUNDAY
The desert cities, the lights that are quenching
like the whitebeards who have closed the eyes and drink
and you are getting older with the lie of the lethe
corpse of despair in the sunset.
Clown on Wednesday, dead on Sunday.
Her eyes are blazing like a starlit night
her hands are digging the tomb of the beating
and you are begging to find an end
like a lost stroke in the skin of the sorrow.
Clown on Wednesday, dead on Sunday
in the mast of the sorrow the God crucified you
without water and love he left you here
like a bastard son of clay who is watching the sky.
DROP YOUR HEARTS TO THE DOGS
We are lost without you
nothing ours behind you anymore
bash our memories in your dreams
and ask for mercy for us.
We are licking the wounds in your holy body
we are creeping jaded behind you
and inside of the chapel of your heart
we are communing ash, bitterness and blood.
Nana, your friends they won�t be here anymore
because they dropped their hearts to the dogs
and they remain empty bugbears.
You, silent in the desert, you will dragging your fame
on the honest soles, on eyes that you don�t know
you will charring the hearts like a dated witch
you will collecting empty shucks behind you with pain.
Monsoons from nowhere will flay your lips
in dingy rooms beggars will nod you
and your eyes will be closed again, dark moons
where like dead stars your friends will falling.
Nana, your friends they won�t be here anymore
they will live dewy deaths in misty dreams
and on the sand-dunes they will smashing.
THE CELEBRATION
Somewhere there will be angels
somewhere they will hiding on the earth
sometime they were humans
they were friends and familiar.
In one insufferable celebration
under a sonorous rain.
I saw you in shipwrecks
there where melting alone
forty sailors
tied on the tiller.
In one insufferable celebration
under a sonorous rain.
You took a breath but you gave too, in your most misty memory
now I can remember where I saw you before.
I saw you in miserable times
where the snow hitting us
we crawling from the tipple
and only getting dark.
You took a breath but you gave too, in your most misty memory
now I can give rein to the swirl of solitude.
MISERLY LIGHT
Miserly light in the room
stifling voices in the corridor
a miserable bed full of blood
a soulless body with a knife on the skin.
Scratching a phrase on the skin, only with blood
love isn�t anything else but a lie.
Slowly steps, he drags his body
in front of the mirror, he droops his figure
the eyes are empty, with full of blood
a soulless body with a knife on the skin.
He sets up his knife
he brings it slowly, on his breast
the eyes are empty, a miserable end
an insane, an insane with a knife on the skin.
LIKE THE SNOWS
Tell me about the dreams
that have colors
burnt stars are falling from sky-high
hiding in holy clays.
The glasses are empty
a friend who left early
his face is reflecting
in our sups, in our eyeshot
in our screams, in our hearts.
And you don�t believe that the humans are melting
like the snows
and you don�t believe that the hearts are decaying
like the bugbears in the old threshing floors.
Tell me about the dreams
that I see them black and white
one breath from the death
is this awakening.
D.
I got old inside your silence, lorn all these years
in this leprous place
mournful corpse.
Upon the rock that your love timelessly crucify me.
and ate my fleshes
and left me deficient.
THE DEPRIVATION BECAME OUR HABIT
I am licking the acid from the crevices of your lips
and I am trying to mellow your pain
the passing years are left me alone
to search my breath in your dead self.
I am asking for help from powerless hands
that are trembling in love and horror
you took by wrong my road
and you are looking for the light in dead stars.
Your absence is crushing me
and I can�t inure
I feel like I walk forward but always I arrive back
and this truth is killing me.
I erase the signs of our lies
I blunder in the silence
the deprivation became our habit
and love became a sick scream.
ENDLESS SAD ANTARCTIC
There where the drunks are whispering
songs of love and death
there where the dead are twirling
in their sleep and they cry rarely.
There where the love has ended
and slowly die the sobs of the looser
there where your body is ghostly
by sorrow tourists of your life.
Inside the bars where the barflies suicide
inside of our best music
in the dark winters of our youth
inside the depths of earth.
You will looking and searching for me everywhere
but I will hiding silent for ever there
inside your eyes where is blazing
an endless sad Antarctic.
BESIDE YOU LIKE ..... ALWAYS
I leave behind me the old lairs
and I debauch at yesterdays corpse
I winter in vacant hands
I fuddle my sorrows in miserable celebrations.
I am a man
who tastes your ashes
a revolver
in front of your brow.
The dark path of your love
there where God is dying thirsty.
THIS SONG IS NOT FOR YOU
This song is not for you
it speaks for a tiny gremlin
it speaks for a train with rotten brakes
for a trip without return.
This song is not for you
it speaks for those who are children for ever
for people who are lost their minds
and they count puckers in white cells.
This song is not for you
it speaks for my childish friends
who are remain like ashes beside the rails
like lost memories from wild times.
This song is not for you
it speaks for sacrifices and crosses
you understood things that are unknown to you
this song is not for you
and for nobody.
MORTIFICATION WOMAN
Mortification you,
get die the� get heal the�
get close the wound.
Like was yesterday when the wind blows
and our hair were mixed.
I tired,
and I died,
I didn�t searched nowhere.
Heavenly you,
burnt me the� scratched me the�
melted me the� rain.
Like was yesterday, the words of threat
that you are going away.
I tired,
And I died,
I didn�t searched nowhere.
I scared,
not to see again,
your eyes, dark, empty
empty and dead.
LAST DAY
The skies had yawned
bad news for the poet
we left alone in this city
in this city where never it�s getting dark
termination of dreams that had life
the unworn fecund ground has mortified.
If we thing that we are alive
we are dead from a long time.
The visions are dead, are smoke
the God had suicide yesterday.
Dig my hole to get in
from the light of sun I want to hide.
Termination of dreams that had life
the unworn fecund ground has mortified.
Music: Diafana Krina
Lyrics: Pantelis Rodostoglou, Thanos Anestopoulos
